Awake Dreaming

Chapter 1

"If you promise to behave, I'll take the hood off."

He blinked away the sweat dripping into his eyes; drawing short shallow breaths. He was desperate but he'd be damned if he would admit it.

"Okay," he nodded as the hood lifted. He kept his gaze steady masking any sign of anxiety or fear.

It was night already, as he watched the unfamiliar landscape pass by from the rear window. Rain was coming down in sheets as the van travelled at a steady pace. He caught his reflection in the grime stained window when a flash of lightening illuminated the cramped space. It was his six year old self looking back at him. Memory was a tricky thing. He was slouched in the passenger seat as his mother drove. She stared straight ahead with bleary eyes and never once looked his way.

Rain drummed on the roof of their Chevy Impala, then rivered down the cracked windshield. Mom was drunk again. She had her reasons, reasons he wished his six year old self understood. He thinks things would be better for her if she wasn't weighted down by him. He could see it in her face. It was why she was so sad and distant.

The road was dark and the car drifted into the opposite lane.

"Please, Mom," his voice trembled as he started to cry.

"Jesus Christ, Neal. Calm down, don't be such a baby. You know I'm a good driver." Her cigarette shook slightly making tiny puffs of smoke like in the cartoons.

Then she plowed right through the Danger sign over the Old West Bridge. She wouldn't remember when they finally made it home. She never remembered. After a while, it was no longer scary to cross the bridge. He stopped crying and learned to be calm, even when panic as icy cold as the river below the Old West Bridge filled his heart.

Some memories never go away, no matter how much you try to forget. He wanted the past to stay locked away where he put it, trapped at the intersection of hope and reality, on a weathered old bridge. The boy in the window slowly disappeared as the Manhattan skyline rapidly vanished into the haze behind them. He wondered if he'd ever make it home again.

He turned from the window and looked into the eyes of the man seated next to him. The man holding the hood, it was the man who took him from the park, the man with the boots.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

"I collect debts. After that is none of my business."

The van began to slow, tires bumping over a deserted gravel road. The rain stopped. The larger of the two men riding upfront in the van kept his eyes on the road, the smaller one watched him through the rear view mirror. Headlight beams revealed two figures standing off in the shadows. He pondered various strategies he could employ to escape, considered his odds. There was no good solution.

"Sorry, but the hood goes back on," the man with the boots said flatly.

"What? You said if I behaved."

"That was when you were my problem."

He hated the suffocating feeling under the hood, being blind. His heart was pounding against his ribcage as the man slid it back on.

Someone took his arm, pushed his head down and pulled him from the van. They were talking, but the jack hammer beat of his heart drowned out most of the conversation. He'd been in enough negotiations to figure out the essentials, the delivery had been made.

If he was going to improve his odds it had to be now. He stumbled backwards and fell hard into the man holding his arm, taking them both to the ground in a tangle. His elbow caught the unsuspecting driver in the ribs, the man groaned as he foisted him to his feet. Neal wavered for a moment, breathing deeply.

"Sorry, sorry," he mumbled.

The van's engine turned on and soon the rolling crunch of tires on gravel disappeared in the damp night air.

Different hands were on his body now, pushing and pulling him forward. His feet crunched over the gravel road, until he reached what he assumed was a building. He was standing on what felt like concrete flooring. He could hear the hum of machinery in the background. They walked for some distance before he heard the click of an automatic locking device, a door opening. He was ushered into a room and pushed down into a chair. A man removed his hood. He took a gulp of sterile air. The room was white, mostly empty for a small bed and toilet.

"I don't feel so good," Neal swallowed hard in quick succession.

"You'll be all right," the man said.

"I think I'm going to be sick," he doubled over and dry heaved.

"Shit, don't you puke in here," the man hurried from the room.

He didn't have to sell it much, adrenaline and nausea coursed through him. He had seconds maybe to get free of the flex cuff binding his wrists. There was just enough give. He pulled the phone he lifted off the unsuspecting driver from his sleeve, being a world class pick pocket had substantially improved his odds. It took a moment for his fingers to cooperate with the texting. This was his only chance. He could hear footsteps rapidly approaching. A second more was all he needed.

A blow to his head sent him and the chair over. The last thing he remembered was the phone crashing to the concrete floor. Had he hit send?

wcwc

"Good evening Neal. My name is Joseph. We've been expecting you." A man in a dark suit was leaning over him. The suit looked all wrong for him Neal thought. His voice was remarkably even, almost peaceful.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Like someone hit me in the head," Neal winced as he touched his temple.

"For someone as notoriously smart as you Neal, that was incredibly stupid. I'm afraid even NSA can't track a signal here. Get him up."

The two men flanking him got Neal to his feet and back into the white plastic chair. Joseph motioned for one of them to bring him a hypodermic needle on a tray behind them.

"Now this is going to hurt, Neal. Really hurt," a faint smile crossed his face.

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Dianna was at her desk when Peter walked in. Coffee was going. She followed him into his office carrying two mugs.

"Peter, what's going on?"

"Neal disappeared late this morning. The Marshal's report came in at 10:30am. He cut his anklet. I asked Jones to get everything we have on his tracking data."

"Done," Jones walked in with a file in his hand. "This is a report of Neal's movements. It shows the anklet was cut on the perimeter of the park reservoir near east 90th."

"You're kidding me, right?" She placed the mugs on the desk. "Why would Neal run?"

"Thanks," Peter took the mug of coffee. "It's why I'm here. I've convened the team along with representatives from the Marshals to meet in thirty minutes. I appreciate you both coming in ahead. I wanted you to hear this from me first. I'm not going to D.C."

"Peter, we can find Caffrey with you in D.C. This isn't exactly our first rodeo," Jones shook his head and placed the file on the desk. "I don't understand why you keep taking hits for this guy. Why we keep taking hits for him."

Peter understood Jones's frustration, hell he shared it. He had watched with pride as Neal easily settled into the job four years ago, and a little envy if truth be told. He was smart, breathtakingly smart. They were better as a team now because of Neal and they all knew it. He never imagined when he took Neal's deal they would become friends. He didn't want to believe it had all come to an end.

"Neal requested an early release. His work on our team, especially his work in capturing Rachel Turner was taken into account, and administration approved it."

"So what am I missing? Diana looked at Peter. That's good news right, not the kind of news that would make you cut your anklet and run."

"They took it away. Bruce called me this morning, said the Bureau reconsidered. They felt Neal was too much of an asset to be released now."

"Okay, so he doesn't get early release," Jones was angry. Caffrey's still got a sweet deal, Peter. I don't get it, just serve the damn time he signed up for. You have given him every chance to do the right thing. Put your career on the line, how many times?"

"It's complicated. Bruce all but said, the Bureau could keep Neal on anklet indefinitely. He doesn't deserve that. You do your time and you get your freedom, that's the deal. I told him not to do anything crazy. That we'd find a way."

"You told Neal Caffrey not to do anything crazy, seriously?" Dianna sat down.

"I hoped I was getting through to him," Peter looked out at the city below. "The system failed him and so did I."

"It's not your fault, Boss."

"How could he reform when we asked, all but demanded that he continue to perform criminal acts. I'm responsible for him and I'm responsible to make sure he's brought to justice. I can't do that in D.C."

Jones didn't look quite as convinced, but for now he didn't have much choice.

"Let's get to work." Peter picked up the file. "We do this by the book, the Caffrey playbook. What's the first thing Neal would do?"

"Get in touch with the little guy, if he's not already with him. I say we find Mozzie, we find Caffrey," Jones suggested.

"Not necessary, Dianna said reading the text that had just come in on her phone. Mozzie's here. He says he won't talk to anyone but you, Peter. He's in the back hall conference room."

wcwcw

"I see you've brought in the bloodhounds," Mozzie nodded toward the team assembled in the large conference room across the hall. "He ran. That's what you're telling yourself?"

"Now's not the time, Mozzie," Peter frowned with annoyance. "If you know where he is…"

"If I knew, this would be the last place I'd come. You'd do better asking your fellow suits who want to keep Neal a prisoner."

"Don't be ridiculous. You have no idea what you're talking about. I'm doing everything I can to salvage this."

"Save the sob story suit… how you risked your job, how you gave a born criminal a chance. It may have worked on Neal, but I know better."

"You don't know anything. Neal deserved his freedom, but not like this. Cutting his anklet, running….this was Neal's choice. Don't you dare put this on me!"

"It's always been about you, pretending to be his friend, his father. He'd do anything for you, and you just used him up and threw him away, infecting him with false hope. You're no better than James when it comes down to it. You're worse. At least he pimped out his son for more than a fancy view and a promotion."

"Shut up!" anger rolled through Peter cold and sharp. It was too late to stop. He moved instinctively, slamming the smaller man against the wall.

"Make you feel better?" Mozzie's face filled with a cold rage. "Neal was desperate to wash away the sins of his father and you were too selfish to see it. All you could see was a criminal."

"What are you talking about?" Peter eased his forearm off the balding man's chest.

"Neal mortgaged his soul to Hagan for a get out of jail free card for you. Hagan had the D.A. in his pocket. If Neal stole the coins, you would be a free man. After that, Hagan owned Neal. But it seems he wasn't the only one, pulling the strings," he gave a little snort.

"That's rich coming from you. Look in the mirror, you self- serving little bastard. You've manipulated Neal from the beginning, held him back for your own advantage. Get out, before I throw you in prison where you belong!"

Mozzie studied Peter for a minute, his face closed. "I promise if you or the people you work for have anything to do with this…"

"What? You came here to threaten me, is that it?"

"I am going to bring him back. And when I do, I'm taking him somewhere you'll never find him." He walked away.

Peter had to take a deep breath, make an effort to calm down. He leaned heavily on the desk, trying to clear his mind. Why hadn't Neal come to him? He would never have let him make a deal with Hagan, no matter the consequences to himself. His head was filled with static and his chest was tight. He felt the weight of someone's gaze and lifted his head to see Dianna.

"Boss, you okay?"

"Yeah."

"What did Mozzie have to say?"

"Nothing helpful."

"We just got some new information on Neal's anklet. I think you might want to hear this." She walked him back to the office, concern etched on her face.

"What do we have?"

"Caffrey's anklet was found in the back of a pick up near Battery park."

"The owner of the trucks been cleared." Jones added the new sheet to the file.

"An obvious misdirect, classic Neal," Peter scrubbed his hand through his hair.

"Yeah, and he has at least an hour on us. He could be anywhere."

wcwcw

Six hours later they were no closer to when they started. Peter was sitting quietly, his cup of coffee gone cold. He rubbed his hand absent mindedly over the desk where so many mornings Neal and he exchanged playful banter. A faint buzzing sound broke the silence, then repeated.

"Somebody going to get that?" Peter looked up from the same report he'd been poring through for the last hour.

"Peter, I think it's yours," Jones nodded toward the offending sound.

"Oh, right." He crossed the room to his jacket and lifted his phone from the pocket. The incoming message icon flashed. His face paled as he read the screen.

"Boss, what is it?"

Holding the phone like it was a lifeline, he could feel the vibration move through his fingers and up his arm into his chest where it shook his heart. Dianna touched his forearm, gently taking the phone from his hand. The text read simply.

Help me…Neal